


Trigger Warning

by HumanTrampoline



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, M/M, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-31
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-20 15:35:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3655617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanTrampoline/pseuds/HumanTrampoline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mission went tits up; Eggsy and Harry are both on the wrong end of the gun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trigger Warning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [missbecky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/gifts).



> For missbeckywrites since I'm really good at accidentally making her very sad. Inspired by fanart that can be found here: http://galahard.tumblr.com/post/111955451859/supermapsy-if-the-eggsy-when-to-kill-harry
> 
> That last panel, jesus christ.

Something isn’t right. It’s ticking at the back of his mind, a steady mantra of _wrong, wrong, wrong_ , but Eggsy can’t place it. His hands are clammy, his suit, no, his _skin_ feels too tight. His grip on the gun is steady, have to be, after three years on the job, but that’s the only groove of familiarity to his mind’s current track. There’s a burning sensation at the base of his skull as he sweeps the building. The labs here are abandoned, looks like. The past few days have an odd dream-like quality to them. Arthur had given him the briefing, something to do with subdermal implants and a terrorist cell? Trying to remember locations or even dates and times is like slogging through mud. He’d tracked vips down to this location and now, somehow, it seems the trail’s gone off.

 

He’s ready to holster his weapon and radio in when he rounds the corner and the steady tick of unease ratchets up to a blaring siren in his brain. Someone’s standing at the end of the hall, their stance familiar, but his body has decided on full alert somehow. It’s as though there are glass walls sliding up around him; his body moves, he sees, but everything is steadily sliding out of his control. He can hear the click of the safety being disengaged on his gun, can feel the linoleum beneath his feet as he advances down the hall. He tries to call out, either in warning or distress, but the sound gets caught in his throat. There is only his body’s betraying motion.

 

“Eggsy, I need you to put down the gun.”

 

The voice is calm, and realization shoots through him. _Harry._ In any other situation he would be overjoyed to hear him. _Harry, I can’t._ There is no putting down the gun, now. He tries, strains, pushes up against the boundaries with all his strength but it’s not enough. The burning in his neck has graduated to searing heat, as though someone is trying to brand him from the inside out.

 

“Darling, please, you have to listen to me.”

 

Harry sounds calm still, but there’s a waver underneath, something Eggsy only hears on dark nights, when regrets come to haunt them both. It reminds him of white paint smeared red with blood. Of a tropic village and burning buildings. By now his feet have carried him far enough only a few meters remain between himself and Harry. A shot now, at this distance… Harry was lucky once; Eggsy cannot bear knowing if he’ll be lucky again. He’s screaming internally, damn his arms, damn his legs, what’s happening and why; he won’t be responsible for this, he won’t, he won’t, _he won’t._

 

His firing arm straightens and he levels the gun on Harry.

 

_No. No no no no._

 

“Eggsy, I know you’re still in there. Come back to us, love. Come back to me.”

 

There’s pleading now, in the tone; pleading now, in his expression.

 

_I **want** to, Harry. Please just run, get away, I can’t do this to you._

 

There’s warmth and wetness against his face, his vision swims. The branding heat broadens and intensifies. _Whoever you are, and whatever you want, **I won’t do this** ,_ he thinks desperately. _I will not shoot him. I love him._

 

“Eggsy, please.” Harry’s voice has gone tight and thin.

 

Eggsy pushes harder against the edges of his confinement, pushes and snarls and scrapes against the borders. _I won’t, I won’t, I won’t._ He feels something inside _shift_ and then the world explodes into white fire.

 

\---

 

When he wakes to the lights of the infirmary, the pain at the base of his skull has dampened down to a dull throb. Judging by the tingling feeling in his extremities, it’s probably due to a fair amount of painkillers in his system. There’s warmth wrapped around his right hand, and once he gathers the strength to turn his head (much to his neck’s displeasure), he’s rewarded with the sight of a mop of brown and silver hair, and a faintly scarred hand entwined with his own. Harry’s apparently fallen asleep in the visitor’s chair, head pillowed on the bed.

 

He wants to say something cheeky, like ‘ _Sure your back can handle that, old man?_ ’ but instead can only breathe through the wave of relief at seeing Harry alive and well. With the absence of the implant, his head is already immensely clearer. The mission had been investigating a group of ‘biohackers’ claiming they could offer a masterfully subtle form of mind control. Subdermal implants at the base of the skull, some kind of direct line into the nervous system. They must have gotten the drop on him somehow, drugged and cut him. _Sloppy work._ He’d rather it’d all been some crazy dream but given the state of things, neck pain, infirmary, Harry, the truth is hard to avoid. The thought’s nice, though. Better than having to admit he’d almost shot and killed the love of his life because some group of nutters found him out.

 

“None of this was your fault.”

 

Harry’s voice pulls him from his inner thoughts. He’s woken and is now peering at Eggsy over the rim of his glasses, a knowing look on his face. There’s creases on his cheek from the bedclothes. Eggsy can’t decide if he wants to kiss him or throttle him; Merlin and Harry both must have known he’d been compromised and Harry just threw himself in the line of fire, as it were.

 

“Why didn’t you run, or fight me, or anythin’? I could’ve-”

 

“Because I knew you were still in there.”

 

“How? Harry, I couldn’t do a thing against it. Like I was just a puppet or something. I’m glad you trust me, but I could’ve _killed you_.” The thought makes him ill, the similarities between this and that godawful day three years ago...

 

“Trigger discipline.”

 

Eggsy frowns at the apparent non sequitur. “What?”

 

“From the very start of your training, you’ve always had impeccable trigger discipline.” Harry releases his hand to shift from the chair to the bed. Eggsy can feel the warmth of him through the sheets once he’s seated next to him; another reminder they both made it out alive. “You never once had your finger on the trigger the entire time we were facing each other, so I knew you were still in there and still fighting. I just had to try and lead you through it. Merlin suspected the devices could only handle so much resistance before shorting, and clearly he was correct.” There’s relief in Harry’s tone alongside the usual placidity.

 

“And so you just risk it on what? Me bein’ a stubborn git?”

 

Harry’s mouth tilts in a small smile. “You _are_ one of the most hard-headed men I know, Eggsy. I had faith in you.” His smirk fades into something more pensive. “And more than that, once we knew what had happened, I- I couldn’t leave you to that alone, not knowing the things I do about control and it’s illusions.”

 

Eggsy reaches for Harry’s hand, brushes his lips across the knuckles. In this, he knows Harry’s right. The aftermath of the church wasn’t an easy thing to deal with, but Harry had. “S’pose I should believe you then, about this not bein’ my fault.”

 

Harry’s expression is gentle, his touch more so; he fits his palm against Eggsy’s cheek, brushes his thumb across the skin. “It would be wise. Doubly so, in this case. Lancelot thinks she has evidence of a leak in the intel. It would seem they had you made before you set foot in the country.”

 

Eggsy frowns slightly, presses a kiss to Harry’s palm before sitting up completely. “Hardly playing fair, is it?”

  
“Hardly.” Harry reaches for the call button on the bedside table. “Think you’re up for a debriefing? I think it’s time we take the bastards out.”


End file.
